


forever younger, growing older just the same

by strawberryicebreakers (TheUltimateFandomer)



Category: Actor RPF, Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Protective Joe Mazzello, Slow Build, Slow Burn, spans the pacific to modern day, this was fascinating to write, turning saints into the sea lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-11-04 14:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17899748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUltimateFandomer/pseuds/strawberryicebreakers
Summary: From mud and mortars to awards and adoration, Joe learns what it's like to fall in love.





	1. the rise

**Author's Note:**

> the rise of a friendship during a time of war; spanning from the beginning to the end of filming the pacific.
> 
> title is from golden days-panic! at the disco.
> 
> enjoy, you gremlins!

In between the mud and mortars, Joe met the man who would affect his life in a way that nothing ever had, and nothing ever would again. 

When he took on the job of Eugene Sledge, veteran of the second World War, he was afraid of many things. He was afraid that he wouldn’t portray the man in the way he deserved; afraid that the other men on set would see him as a rookie who didn’t deserve a leading role. He was afraid that he’d end up spend a year filming without anyone else he could call a friend. 

Right as he filmed his first scenes, he knew that his fear of solitude was for nothing. Ashton, who played Sledge’s friend before the war, and Josh, who played a man called Burgin, took him in, and with that, gave him a group to be with. The men chose to spend time in each other’s company when not in the process of filming, generally found playing cards or deep in conversation. He knew his other cast members, of course, but he hadn’t had the chance to bond with them. The others, like the young brunet with deep-set eyes, seemed to come and go as they please, appearing in his scenes but never staying around afterwards.

He isn’t sure when, exactly, but Joe found himself growing curious about the man who played Snafu. The other man, a fantastic actor from the few scenes he’d been in with, seemed to simply appear next to him one day, with a lazy Louisianian accent that he’d slip out of the second filming was done. He was fascinating.

The writer’s strike couldn’t’ve come at a worse time. Their script was a patchwork of older scenes that had their own narrative mixed with scenes that had recently found their way in, yet there was no way to connect the two. After reading through his script, Joe felt his chest constrict in panic. There was no way this would work, especially if he wanted to keep his portrayal as honorable to Sledge’s memory as possible. He went to sleep that night weighing the possibilities of quitting, on whether or not it would be a cop-out to leave if he knew that staying meant giving a shitty performance of a man who deserved much better. 

In the morning, the others he’d grouped with were nowhere to be found. The breakfast hall was full of men in uniform, identical despite physical differences like height or weight. He wondered whether or not any of them had the same thoughts he had, or if he was the only one. The train of thought wound around his head, tunneling his vision until he was pulled out of it by a small hand on his shoulder. He looked up. “Yeah?”

“Hey,” the other man, Snafu’s actor, replied. “Did you read the script last night?”

“Sadly, yeah.”

The other man huffed out a laugh, lips pulling back as he smiled. “That bad, huh?”

“Don’t even get me started, man,” he said, shaking his head as the other man walked to the other side of the table and sat down, facing him head-on. He stuck a hand out. “I’m Joe.”

“Rami,” the other man said, shaking his hand across the wood. “How do they expect us to work with something like this?”

“Maybe we can work something out,” Joe said, pulling out his copy of the most recent script. “Find the truth in it, you know? If there even is any, at this point.”

Rami looked him over, eyebrows scrunched as he thought over this new idea.“That might actually work,” he murmured.

-

He found himself close with Rami before their scenes, scripts out as they tried to figure out the best way to portray what was sent to them. They’d take out certain lines, deciding to add bits and pieces they’d read from autobiographies about the men who actually served. They swapped anger with exhaustion during other scenes when the idea of a fight wouldn’t fit in; when the men, who spent days in the rain wouldn’t’ve had the energy to pitch a fit. A duo of camouflaged helmets pressed together, low voices and frantic gestures as the time between the shootings ticked down. The men were inseparable as the days turned to weeks turned to months. 

Nights were spent pouring over notes in the foxholes they’d dug, even if their trailers with heating and clean floors were only feet away.  _ It was better that way _ , Joe thought,  _ if they became who they portrayed, if they refused to let modern-day thoughts interfere with the feelings and actions of marines.  _ The logic and morality of a minor celebrity had nothing to compare with what men could do in times of war. While not all of Eugene Sledge’s actions made complete sense to him, he knew that he could not question history. He had never been in his seat, and never would be, even if he had his hair cut to match and boots laced up exactly the same.

The more time he spent with Rami, the more he grew to appreciate his company. When he looked over, seeing the face of the man beside him helped keep him grounded, knowing that they would be able to make the show great, even if the scripts couldn’t. They spent more time together than they did apart; as time went on, any moment on his own made Joe uneasy, waiting for something bad to happen, for himself to wake up back on the first day of shoots when he didn’t know the other man at all. The other men he’d originally grouped with took Rami in as well as Joe had, but there was always something special, something intimate, when it was just him and Rami on their own. Something that transferred onto the screen, giving Sledge and Shelton a much more intricate relationship than the typed words they preformed had told them to. 

He grew to enjoy every moment, filmed or otherwise, that he spent in the company of the other man. When, as dusk fell and they went offset while others took their places, a head of brown curls would rest upon his shoulder and their conversations turned from thoughts of war to discussions of anything else, everything else. 

“So,” Joe said, “how does it feel to downgrade to this?” They were in his trailer, located in the area they referred to as ‘Base Camp,’ with the first free day they’d had in a while. Freshly showered, both men wore simple t-shirts and jeans, a much appreciated difference from the uniforms they’d all but fused with.

Rami peered up from his phone. “Downgrade?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah, downgrade,” he said, smirking. “You know, being a pharaoh and all.”

“Shut up,” he huffed, playfully batting at Joe’s arm. His face flushed as he snickered, “I never should’ve let you watch that damn movie.”

“Oh, the royal has struck me!” Raising his arm in faux fear, he gasped. “I’ve been sent to death, for a lowlife such as myself cannot live when the pharaoh is displeased by my actions!”

“Joe,” the other man laughed, “stop it!”

“Never, my dear pharoah. I shall live for you,” he fought against an invisible enemy, walking with an unseen sword in his hand. “Fight for you,” he perry’d, ducking his head as Rami chucked a pillow at him from his place on Joe’s bed. “And,” he said, dropping the sword and clutching his chest, “die for you.” He staggered for a moment, trying to keep the facade even as Rami’s loud laugh made him want to grin, showing all but the heavens how elated he was in this moment. Swaying, he fell back-first onto his bed, with the a thump that displaced the other man, causing him to fly upwards for a small moment. “It seems to be the end, my pharoah. I’ve been struck.”

The smaller man gave in, moving closer to Joe as he morphed his expression to show pain. He tried his best, truely, but the smile on Rami’s face broke through. “My humble soldier,” he said, hand lying flat on Joe’s chest. “How ever shall I repay you for your debt?”

Joe held his wrist in his own hand, looking at Rami, who seemed to have gravitated closer. He looked into the other’s eyes. “I’m sure I can think of something,” Joe said, voice low.

Rami opened his mouth, a reply half-formed, before the door to the trailer fell open. The men sprang apart Joe scrambling to stand up as one of the tech crew came in, clipboard in hand.

“Hey, Rami,” he said, looking up. The tech member made no comment on the flush on both men’s faces, nor the shifting gaze that Joe had, looking at Rami for a moment before worry took over and he looked somewhere else. “I know it’s y’all’s free day, but we need to reshoot one of the scenes we did yesterday.”

“Okay, just, uh,” Joe said, rummaging through his closet. “Just give us a minute, we’ll be out as soon as possible.”

“No,” the tech said. “You can stay here, we just need him.” He pointed his pen at Rami. “Come with me, we don’t have any time to waste.”

Rising to his feet, Rami moved past Joe and over to the tech. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. He left the trailer, closing the door behind him.

The rest of the day passed Joe by in a blur. He left his trailer, joining the others who weren’t filming for lunch, but he felt off. Something was missing, but he wasn’t sure what. 

As the stars came out, replacing the day with a calmer, stiller life, he heard a knock on his door. He put the book he’d picked up, a fictional story of war, and he opened the door.

“Hey,” Rami said, standing before him. He wore Shelton’s uniform, with dirt streaked on his face and shaking hands. 

“Hey.”

“Mind if I come in?”

“Of course not, Rami,” Joe said, voice soft. The smaller man looked on edge, as if the smallest noise would startle him, and Joe didn’t want to be the trigger for any negative emotion in his friend. “Come on in.” Taking Rami’s hand, he pulled him inside, into the light and warmth of his trailer.

Rami walked forwards, as if in a daze, and collapsed on the bed. He closed his eyes as he made contact, facing the white sheets. Joe decided against mentioning the inevitable stain he’d make.

“You okay?” Joe asked, watching as the smaller man bury himself in the bed. He reached a hand out, but seeing Rami start to still, he paused.

“I don’t-,” he said, voice muffled as he pressed his face into the soft surface. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“What?” Joe said, confused. He knew that the scenes were a hassle, but they didn’t mess with him. They didn’t leave him with the exhaustion he saw in every line of the smaller man’s body. “What do you mean?”

Joe leaned over, looking at Rami, who’s eyes were closed. He sighed to himself, making a note to ask about it when he woke up. Going back to his chair, he was about to sit down before something caught his gaze. Rami still had his shoes on, and all of his gear. “Christ, man,” he said under his breath. He took one of the boots in his hand, unlacing it and taking it off, repeating the action on his other foot. The belt and helmet came off next, and Joe could see the dirt caked in his hair. He grimaced, about to grab a brush before going against it; he didn’t want to wake him up. 

His hands stilled as he undid the other man’s uniform, replacing it quickly with a navy cotton t-shirt and gray joggers he found in his closet. Size notwithstanding, as Joe’s lankier arms and legs led to both articles of clothing being a bit too long for Rami, the other man looked much more at-peace as he slept in actual sleepwear. He took a blanket from the linens cabinet and draped it over Rami, smiling to himself as he saw his friend unconsciously nuzzle into it.

He went back to his seat, picking up his book and planning to finish it, but his eyes inevitably strayed to his companion for the rest of the night.

-

Joe had seen actors become their roles, when the lines of the script became intertwined with the lines in their own heads until two merged into one, but he’d never seen something like this before. He’d never seen how the accent stayed even as him and Rami walked away from the set, how the other man seemed to never be comfortable in his clothes, choosing to wear the uniform more and more often. The fusion of Shelton, a man from the past resurrected, and his friend was concerning, and the constant reshoots, the calls of “take it from the top one more time” that never seemed to end until everyone shook and he felt the mud soak into his very being.

“Let’s try this again,” the director said, and the men got back into place. He saw Rami pick up Shelton’s Ka-Bar, and take a breath. The scene rolled, with Joe saying a few lines while Rami hacked at prosthetic bodies for golden teeth. “Cut!”

“What’s wrong this time?” one of the other men yelled out, voice strained.

“Lighting rig is acting up again,” the director responded. A prop tech came by, fixing the faux body to make it good as new, and ran off as the scene rolled once more. “Take it from the top.”

Joe said the same lines, the other men laughed at the same time, and Rami removed the teeth from the body once more. One of the men got up, moving over to the edge of the screen, and tripped over a rock lying in the mud. “Fuck,” the director swore. “Do it again.”

They ran through it. The camera fell. 

“Do it again.”

One of the men started coughing during a line.   
“Do it again.”

Joe stuttered on a sentence. 

“Do it again.”

Looking over, he saw Rami’s hands tremble as he lifted the blade to the mouth of the prosthetic. The other man looked sick, like he wanted nothing more than to leave the set and never come back. Joe barely got through his lines. He thought they were done, that they’d finally gotten the take right, but an airplane flying overhead, louder than all hell, made the director groan. “Do it again.”

Joe looked over at Rami, but the other man was turned away. He saw his skin pale as he picked the Ka-Bar up once again. The director counted down, and the cameras began to roll. Joe recited the lines that, at this point were etched in his mind, and glanced at Rami once the camera was off of him.

Eyes glossed over, Rami took tooth after tooth out of the body, face akin to steel. His hands, eerily still, held golden teeth as he took a shallow breath. 

“Cut!” the director yelled.

“Is it done?” one of the techs asked.

“No,” the director said, and he left his seat. He walked over to Rami, bending down to whisper in his ear. Rami nodded, staring straight ahead. Going back to his seat, he called to start shooting again.

Everything seemed to go well; Joe and the other men delivered their lines, no airplanes flew overhead, and no one slipped, yet the director’s face fell as the cameras panned away. “Rami,” he said, “do you need to take a break?”

Joe’s head snapped, looking at his friend. The other man shook like a leaf in gallows wind, bad enough to be seen on camera, even if he wasn’t the focus of the scene. “No,” Rami said, voice hoarse. “No, I can do this.”

Joe moved, shifting in order to get up. “Are you sure-”

“Roll the cameras,” Rami said, ignoring him completely. “Please.”

“Okay,” the man said, uncertainty clear in his voice. “I trust that you know your limits.” The lights came back on, and Joe went back to his position. 

Halfway through his third line, he heard someone behind him start to break down, an unhappily common occurrence on set. With the constant noise, injury, and death, it didn’t matter that it was all fake; it affected the cast and crew the same. Breath coming short and sounding like a drowning man, it was one of the worst he’d heard in a while, but he resisted the urge to look. It wasn’t polite to look at someone in a moment of weakness.

“Fuck,” a voice swore nearby. “I can’t-, I can’t do this.”

He’d recognize the low tone, the drag of vowels, anywhere. “Rami?” Joe said, facing his friend. Red-rimmed eyes met his own, with lines of clean skin painted in between the dirt and crime that was ever-present on their bodies. The Ka-Bar lay at his feet, and the body was empty of golden teeth

Head dropping to his hands, the other man gripped his hair tight as he hid his face. “I’m-,” he said, breath hitching halfway through a syllable. “God, I’m sorry.”

Joe saw the director move, gesturing to the other crew members to leave. They left quietly, sinking into the background without disrupt, while the men around Rami stood shock-still, unsure of what to do. Within moments, all that remained were Joe, a few other cast members, the director, and a man hunched over, shying away from the world in a moment of hurt. They sat there, forming a half-circle around the small man, waiting to for something they could help with.

“Rami,” a man clothed in green asked, “is there anything we can do to help?” The man reached out a hand, resting it upon Rami’s shoulder.

He looked up, and saw the men surrounding him. “Oh, uh,” he stammered, pulling himself to his feet. His eyes looked manic, flitting between the actors and director, unable to focus on anything. “I’m fine. Yeah, I’m fine.”

The director spoke up. “With all respect, Rami-,”

“I said that I’m fine.” He said, smiling. “Just had a moment, that’s all.”

“Rami-,” Joe started, but was cut off as Rami laughed, quiet and yet horrifically loud.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself over with, Joe. Now,” he clapped his hands together, taking a deep breath, “can we finish this scene?”

-

Joe hadn’t seen his friend for the rest of the day after that shoot ended. Rami took off as soon as the scene cut, practically running to his trailer to get away from the set. He’d considered taking off after him, but Joe decided against it, thinking that, if need be, Rami would come to him. He assumed that it would’ve been sooner than three a.m., but if the creak of his door opening was anyone other than the small Egyptian, Joe would personally give his entire salary to the guys that brought the giant Subway sandwiches for the craft services table.

Feeling a weight drop next to him, he sighed. “You know,” he said, voice quiet, “you may as well get under the covers.”

Rami swore. “I’m sorry if I woke you up, I can go-,”

He lifted up the comforter, a deep red that contrasted beautifully with white sheets, yet clashed in an ungodly manner with his ginger hair. “Get under here, man. There’s no way you’re comfortable, I know how intense my fan is.”

That let a laugh rise out of Rami, who shuffled under the covers. The light was low, emitting only from the moon and the set lights in the distance through his window, but Joe could see the redness on his face. He felt legs clothed slide next to his own. “I never took you for a shorts kind of guy.”

“I’m usually not,” Rami said. “Australia’s heat took away my options pretty quick, though.”

“I feel that.” Joe himself wore shorts, hoping that his bedmate wouldn’t recognize the  _ Jurassic Park  _ logo on them. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

“I-,” he said, interrupted by his own yawn. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“And why is that?”

“Didn’t want to be alone.”

“Ah,” Joe said. Tugging on the sheets encasing them, he tried to nudge the other man closer to him, and upon feeling Rami roll onto his outstretched arm, he knew he succeeded. He pulled the other man closer to him, hoping that physical affection would help. “Want to talk about it?”

The other man lay silent; in his tired state, he looked at Joe. “I think I’m sinking,” he said, voice scratched.

“In what way?”

“I have days where I can’t separate myself from Shelton. I know-, I know that he was a real man, a Marine, but every time I pry a goddamn tooth out of a body I feel like I’m him. I feel like I can smell the decay, I can hear the whistles of dropped bombs and the yells of sergeants. I feel like I’m there, I don’t know how to leave, and all I want to do is cry.”

Joe looked down, seeing Rami’s eyes closed as he dug himself deeper into the warmth of the bed, setting his head on the cotton shirt covering Joe’s chest. “That’s-”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded hollow, like he didn’t even know how he felt about his situation.

“Yeah,” Joe echoed, wrapping the arm near Rami around the smaller man’s shoulders. Silence stretched between the two, with the only noise coming from the set nearby. He could hear Leckie’s actor yelling something, but he wasn’t sure what. An explosion went off, briefly lighting up the trailer with a fierce orange glow, and Joe glanced down when he felt Rami stiffen in his hold. He started to pull his hand away, afraid that the grip had grown uncomfortable. “Do you want-,”

“Keep your arm there,” he said, voice thick with the sheer effort he made at staying awake. “I’ll only be here for a few more minutes, I promise.”

“Okay,” Joe murmured, threading a hand through the curls on the other man’s head. Too out of it to do anything else, Rami let out a small noise of bliss, similar to a cat’s purr. Laughing to himself, Joe felt Rami relax, head growing heavy as he became victim to sleep’s unwavering hold. Joe remained awake for a while longer, calmed by the heartbeat he could sense from the other man, before falling asleep as well.

-

He wakes up alone.

-

Days, weeks, months passed on, and if Joe felt the weight on his bed dip in the middle of the night, warm body pressed next to his, he never mentioned it. If Rami felt the hand that rubbed at his shoulders, the arm that curled around him to keep him safe, he never mentioned it. If both men began to crave the other’s attention, if they both found that sleep evaded them if they couldn’t see the other, neither mentioned it.

_ It’s easier this way _ , Joe thought as he saw his friend laugh at a comment another actor made.  _ No feelings to mess this up. All he needs is comfort, and I can give that to him.  _

The other actor put his hand on Rami’s shoulder, and Joe felt something deep within himself. A feeling of anger, a being that tried to drag him to the smaller man, a being that wanted to do nothing more than rip the hand that wasn’t his off of his shoulder and replace it with his own. 

A being that screamed at the thought of any man capturing his attention, that felt disgust at imagining him at anyone’s side but Joe’s.

A being that crooned at the image of the two men together in his apartment, alone at night with no techs or directors to interfere.

_ It’s just a protective instinct.  _ He turned away from the two men, not wanting to see anything else occur out of pure spite.  _ That’s all it is. _

-

As filming began to wrap, Joe was faced with the idea of saying goodbye. It snuck its’ way into every waking moment, the thought that after this, he may never see the other man again. He’s seen casts where they remain friends for years to come, even going to each other’s weddings, and he’s seen casts that never mentioned the actors they shared the stage with ever again. 

For the first time in months, Joe is afraid.

He’s afraid of what could happen if he isn’t there; if there isn’t someone on set for whatever takes Rami next that will know to go to the director after scenes to ask for a longer break when the blank look comes back to Rami’s face. Joe doesn’t want to think about what could happen if no one learns his friend’s cues, the signs that show everyone else that he isn’t doing well when he doesn’t want to say it aloud.

A fear he wraps close to his heart, ignoring it, hoping that it will leave him be, is the fear of how they’ll manage to sleep when one of them leaves for good.

-

Late May arrives, and with it, the shooting comes to a close. The final scenes are shot and any reshoots are done faster than one could blink, leaving the cast with an odd amount of free time. Joe uses this time to relax, taking a well-needed break from the hectic nature he’d been stuck in for almost a year. He manages to nab Rami often enough, making sure that the man is doing well, but every time he sees him, Joe is unnerved.

Something is wrong. Joe sees it in Rami’s eyes; the T.V. static gaze that sees right through anything in front of him, unable to register his surroundings. He hears it in the way that Rami’s natural voice became a fusion of his voice and Snafu’s sometime in February and never left, west coast pronunciation mixing with a southern drawl. He feels it in the way he shakes in Joe’s arms at night, a subtle, yet growing tremble that increases as each faux bomb goes off in the distance. He knows it in the ways that Rami tries to pull away from him, going quiet during conversations and not responding to anyone on set. Joe doesn’t know what he’s planning, or if he even is planning something, but he’s too anxious to ask.  _ Only a little while longer,  _ he thinks when he sees the other man run ragged.  _ Only a little while longer until we can leave this hell hole. _

Ideas swirl in his mind when he has the time to indulge them. Thoughts of bringing his friend home with him, of seeing him bounce back to the bright-eyed, laughing man he’d first met all of those months ago, give him the energy to push through days of reshoots on scenes he thought he’d perfected. Alternatively, he imagines meeting Rami’s family, the brother he talks about with a smile, the sister he looks up to, and the mother he adores. He’s sure that he would love each and every one of them, even if they didn’t love him.

He wants to tell Rami this, but can’t find the chance. The shorter man seems to disappear any time he sees him, and their nights are spent sleeping, run down by the constant drain of the set’s frantic race towards the finishing line. Every lunch is cut short, every conversation interrupted before he built up the courage to say what he needs to say.

-

After one of the worst days of the week, Joe goes to shower at midnight. He locks the door of his trailer behind him, not wanting anyone to burst in on him as he unwinds. The grime of the day’s shoot sticks to him, mud clinging to his skin long after he sheds his uniform. Turning the knobs, hot water sprays, albeit weakly, as everyone else showered as soon as they could, leaving him with the worst water pressure possible.

He stands there for a minute, feeling the water run through his hair. His mind drifts to the day’s events, thinking of the frankly disgusting reshoot of falling into a corpse he had to partake in simply because the lighting wasn’t right the first time around; and, guiltily, he thinks of how he’s had it compared to some of the other actors. While he did have quite a few difficult scenes as Sledge, he knows it doesn’t even begin to compare to what some of the others have done. The scenes for Leckie and the crew that were involved in the first few episodes sound like a nightmare to Joe, one that he’s immensely grateful he didn’t have to partake in.

In fact, they’re still doing reshoots for some of the earlier scenes, even this late into production. He hears men running amok nearby, yelling in an actor’s anguish. A gunshot goes off eerily close as he grabs the shampoo, a short cracking noise that causes him to drop the bottle in surprise. A minute passes, and two more ring out,  one after the other.  _ Must be a new prop,  _ he thinks, rinsing the product out of his hair. Usually, the fake bullets popped, but these sounded crisper, clearer.

He finishes his shower with no other minor epiphanies or issues, save for the bruise he now has from dropping the bottle onto his foot. After toweling off, he changes into a t-shirt given to him by his sister, and a pair of shorts he found atop his dresser. 

_ Tonight’s the night,  _ he thinks, sitting in his desk chair and booting up his computer. Tonight, he’ll have a talk with Rami, a real honest-to-God conversation. He’ll ask him what his plans for after the shoots end, if they could possibly, if Joe was lucky, still have their connection even after they part ways. All he needs to do is wait for the other man. He opened up Twitter, and tried to take his mind off of his worry.

An hour passes, and there’s no sign of his friend. Anxious, he turns his laptop off, pulling a book out from a desk drawer and tries to read, but the lines don’t register in his head.  _ Why isn’t he here yet?  _ Glancing at the clock, Joe feels his stomach clench. It reads, in neon green analog, that the current time is two a.m.  _ Maybe he’s running late. _

Another hour passes. Worry turns to apprehension as Joe tries to not think of the worst case scenario. He runs through his actions over the past few days, trying to find something, anything, that he might’ve done. Any ways he could’ve offended or hurt his friend, any way he could’ve indicated that he didn’t want to be near him. He searches his mind for answers, but comes up blank, which only feeds the fire of fear in his core. If he doesn’t know what he did, he won’t be able to fix it. If he can’t fix it, he could lose a relationship he holds close to his heart. If he loses his relationship with Rami, if he never sees that head of curls next to him in bed, or those eyes glancing at him from across a set again, he isn’t sure if he could deal with it. After growing this close with the other man, he can’t imagine life without him.

He feels his eyelids grow heavy, but he urges himself to power through his fatigue. If he’s asleep, Rami will come in and they won’t even talk because the other man is too polite to wake him up. Joe needs to talk to him. He sets the book down and turns to face the door.

-

At four forty-three a.m., his body gives in, and, slumped over in an uncomfortable swivel chair, he falls asleep.

-

“Ow,” Joe whines, rubbing his neck as his alarms jerks him to consciousness. For a moment, he wonders why exactly he’s not in bed, but the previous night comes to him in full force. Turning around, he takes in the sight of his bed, still made from the previous morning, and sighs.  _ Rami never came. _

He goes to the bathroom, getting ready as fast as possible. If he can make it to the set quick enough, he could meet the other man for breakfast.  _ We could go to the diner a few miles away from the set and I could talk to him then,  _ he thinks, pulling on his shoes and grabbing his keys. Unlocking his door, he walks out, trying not to run as his feet hit the pavement. The feeling that something bad has happened, that something is off, won’t leave him alone, and he tries to tell his mind that nothing different has occurred, that the past twenty-four hours haven’t been unusual, and-

_ Wait. _

He thinks over his morning routine.  _ Brushed teeth, check, clothes,  _ he gives his body a once-over,  _ check. I put on my shoes, unlocked my door, and left. _ Stopping in his tracks, he feels the gravel shift under his feet as realization dawns on him.

_ I unlocked my door. _

Ever since he began to share a bed with the other man, he hadn’t locked his door. Their shoots typically ended at differing times, and sometimes he’d get to his trailer with Rami still on set.  _ I locked my door last night,  _ he thinks, breaking out into a run.  _ Why did I lock my door? _

_ What if he came last night?  _

_ What if he thinks I locked him out on purpose? _

_ What if- _

-

Joe arrived on set panting, sweating through his t-shirt. A quick scan of the breakfast area reveals that the other man is nowhere in sight. Grabbing the director, a man half-awake with his face stuck on his phone, Joe tries not to let the panic he feels seep into his voice. “Where’s Rami?”

“What?” the other man asks, blinking at him.

“Where is Rami?” Joe repeats, slowly. “Shorter than me, curly hair, tan?”

“I know who Rami is, Joe.”

“What’s with the confusion?”

The director’s brows furrow. “He left this morning; I thought you already knew. His shoots wrapped up yesterday, poor guy was anxious to get out of here.”

Something deep within his body freezes, cold spreading in his very being and spreading. He finds his voice, though. “What?”

“Yeah, this series has really taken a toll on the guy.”

“Is he-,” he pauses, frantic. “Did he say anything before he left? Leave his phone number, address, anything?”

“No, why would he?” the director asks, curious. “Why didn’t you already have his number?”

“I didn’t need it.” Every day they’ve been within arms’ reach of each other; there was no need for them to text or call.

“Well, I’ll let you know if I hear from him. Eat quick, though, you’ve got a scene with O’Farrell in half an hour at the house.” The director leaves him with that, going off to speak with another cast member.

Standing alone, Joe feels the cold spread to his fingertips.  _ He’s gone. _

-

On set, dressed as Eugene Sledge, he has trouble conjuring up the smile he’s supposed to wear. The same two words stay in the forefront of his mind as if they were pinned to his every thought.

_ He’s gone. _

-

In his trailer, late into the night, he lays in bed, yet sleep evades him. He still stays to the right side of the bed, even as his mind tells him that no one is coming. Even with the lights off, he can picture the other man,  _ his friend? _ , laughing at a stupid joke he read off of his phone. He can see him sprawled on the bed, curls peeping out from the sheets on the mornings that Joe woke up first. He hears every conversation, every whisper and every shout. He sees every facial expression someone could make on a face he’s memorized in close company. He can feel the other man’s head on his chest, breath puffing against bare skin as he lies in deep sleep. He thinks of how he never got to say how he felt, how he cherished the friendship they had, and how he hoped to continue it. He imagines how tonight could’ve gone if Rami was still here, how they could’ve exchanged words and realized how much they meant to each other. They could’ve gone back to his trailer, joking and playing as they always did on set. He would’ve led the other man inside, grasping his smaller hand in his own. He would’ve looked into sea glass eyes, seeing the love he felt reflected back at him, and-

“Oh.”


	2. the fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the fall of a friendship that could've been more through years apart; spanning from the end of filming the pacific to the beginning of filming bohemian rhapsody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, banging pots and pans: I didn't forget about this fic!
> 
> had to update the tags because things get,,, frisky
> 
> in all seriousness, though, this fic is one of [if not, the top] my favorite pieces I've ever written for a multitude of reasons. I hope you all enjoy this, gremlins.
> 
> song for this chapter- best friend [rex orange county]

After weeks of searching after getting back to the states, scouring the internet for any trace of the man and coming up short, Joe called one of the directors for  _ the Pacific,  _ all but begging to find any way he could contact Rami to see if he could explain what happened. He was given an address, a house about an hour away from his own in California, and nothing else. It took one week for him to be able to work up the courage to drive there. 

He rehearsed his lines in his head as if they were a mantra. Start with friendly conversation, working to the harder topics until he was able to say what he came there to do. His mind ran through the different scenarios that could take place.

In one, he loses his words. The conversation stills until all he can say is goodbye, and he leaves Rami alone. They exchange numbers and talk for a little while, but the opportunity never comes again, and the other man finds someone else.

In another, Rami doesn’t reciprocate his feelings. It’s awkward, of course, as conversation stills to a halt in an unsure air, but they work through it and remain friends. The other guys find out during the premiere party, but no one is mean enough to mock him for it.

In yet another, the door doesn’t open at all. Rami drew his own conclusions, and doesn’t want to see him unless he has to.

In the last scenario, Joe tells the other man how he feels, and his feelings are present in Rami as well. He laughs when he realizes what fools they’ve been in, and holds his love’s face in his own as he kisses him. He goes home with Joe, maybe even stops for a late dinner on the way back, and the night would be theirs to take. They show up to the premiere together, and someone claps Joe on the back, saying that he knew it would happen eventually. The media takes them by storm, simultaneously hating and loving them, swinging between opinions as if its’ life depended on it, but neither man cares. All they know is that they have each other, and that is all they’d ever need. They’re inseparable after that; taking roles where they play couples in summer blockbusters and Hallmark Christmas specials. The thought is indulgent, impossible, even, but it’s still his favorite. Call him a hopeless romantic, but he likes to believe in happily ever afters.

On the evening of a warm June night, Joe climbs into his beat-up car and turns the key in the ignition. The engine turns over, and his starts to drive. With the windows down, he makes his way to Los Angeles, city of angels. The darkened silhouettes of palm trees contrast against the orange of the arriving sunset, a picturesque background for the night. An old rock ‘n’ roll song from the nineties plays out of his stereo, and he hums along as the the streetlights paint him amber, flickering as he passes underneath them. Glittering in the dimming sun, the ocean is a background to his journey, deep blue against a burning sky.

The lack of traffic gives him an advantage in time, and he pulls up to a modest home in a nice neighborhood at seven forty-three. Getting out of his car, his legs carry him up a stone path to the front door, and he knocks. A minute passes, and Joe holds his breath.

Thumping within the home, steps ring out, and he lets out a sigh of relief as he hears the telltale click of a door unlocking. A man opens the door, and Joe almost smiles before he realizes that something is very, very wrong.

The man standing before him is a spitting image of who he wishes to see, and yet, he isn’t. His hair is longer, with a jaw lined in stubble and he seems softer than the man Joe cared for for months on end. He holds himself loose, an uneasy grin on his face as he looks his visiter up and down. “I’m sorry,” he says, and that voice shakes him to his core. It’s right, and yet so wrong. Gone is the drawl he knows, the way of speaking as if each word is on a line that is pulled out of his vocal chords; gone is the deep, slow cadence. This voice is higher, softer. “Who are you?”

“I’m Joe,” he says, sticking out his hand. “Joe Mazzello.” At the lack of recognition he sees, he adds, “I worked with Rami on  _ the Pacific _ .”

Hearing the show’s name, the other man’s face grows dark. Unimpressed, he says, “yeah, I know the show.” His eyes narrow, looking suspicious of the man before him. “What do you guys need with him now?”

He’s confused at the hostility the other man emits, shoulders squared as if he’s positioned for a fight. “What?”

“Are you here to bring him back to the set?”

“No, filming wrapped weeks ago.”

“Okay, then what do you guys need?”

Fed up, Joe rolls his eyes, huffing out a breath. “‘We’ don’t need anything.”

“Why the fuck are you here, then? Can your people not leave my brother alone for a goddamn month?”

“Dude, chill out,” Joe says, holding his hands up as the other man raises his voice.

“No, I won’t, asshole. That show almost wrecked him; I’m not going to let you all drag him back to that hellhole.” Joe gapes at him, unsure of what to say, and the other man continues. “Besides, he isn’t even here right now.”  
His mind screeches to a halt, and he grows wary. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

“He’s gone. Not present. Somewhere else.”

“Where is he, then?”

“Christ, why are you so insistent on this?”

“I’m worried about him.”

The other man’s mouth shuts, cutting himself off of whatever retort he had planned. Deceptively calm, he looks at Joe, voice low, and asks the simple question, “why?”

“I-,” he says, unsure of what to say.  _ I care about him,  _ his mind fills in.  _ I grew used to his presence and I don’t know what to do now that he’s gone. I can’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time because I don’t know if  he’s okay. I still feel like something’s wrong when I wake up and can’t see his curls poking out of the sheets next to me.  _

_ I saw how shooting affected him but was too much of a coward to say anything substantial. I let him distance himself from me because I thought he’d get over it. I still remember how dull his eyes were the last time I saw him. I hear the half- him, half-Louisianian drawl in my nightmares because I know that it wasn’t just a sign of good acting, but a cry for help. I should’ve done something. _

_ I thought we had more time. I thought I’d work it all out before he left. I thought he’d come home with me instead of dropping off of the map. I thought he’d give me a way to contact him. _

_ I thought he knew I loved him.  _ “We were friends on set, and I haven’t been able to get ahold of him for months. I-,” he pauses, hand rubbing at his neck. “I  want to make sure he’s okay.”

“He’s okay,” the other man says, defensiveness leaving his body. Somehow, the admission seems to leave him lethargic, as if the adrenaline of a fight was the only thing fueling him. “He’s out of the country right now.”

“Why?”

“He had to get away from everything, and I wasn’t going to force him to stay.”

“Where-,” he says, unsure of how to even comprehend what he’s been told.  _ How did I not see how bad it got,  _ he questions himself. “Where is he?”

“Argentina.” The word comes out quick, as if the man saying it doesn’t want to keep it in his mouth for a moment longer than he has to. He stares Joe down, and when he sees Joe turn to leave, his arm jerks out, grabbing the ginger’s bicep in a vice-like grip. “Don’t,” he says, voice low, “don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what?”

The other man’s eyes narrow. “If you try to track him down,” he says, anger coming back in full force and rearing its’ ugly head as the need to protect sweeps through his body, “I’ll call the cops. I’ll file a goddamn restraining order against you if I have to.”

“Jesus Christ, man, I wouldn’t-,”

“I know exactly what you’d do, Mazzello. You’d try to track him down, bring him back to the states to drag him into whatever bullshit you were sent here to do under the guise of caring. You and fucking Hollywood itself would bleed him dry and leave me to pick up the pieces I’ve worked my entire life to ensure stayed together. I won’t let it happen. I won’t.”

“I worked with him for months, I need to know he’s okay, and I want to hear it from him.” He stands tall, drawing himself to full height as he stares the other man in the eye. “I’m not leaving until I know he’s okay.”

“Fine.”

The abrupt switch in tone jars Joe, who breaks eye contact. He sees the other man take his phone out, harshly hitting the buttons and raising it to his ear. Silence surrounds the two men for a moment, stretching between them. Joe, confused and half-worried that the other man is calling the police asks, “what are you-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Alright.”

The silence continues for a moment, breaking only by a sigh of relief from the other man. “Hey,” he says, small smile on his face. “Yeah, I’m doing good. Sorry to call at midnight; there’s a situation here.” He pauses, side-eyeing the man in front of him. “There’s a man here who wants to talk to you, says he worked on  _ the Pacific  _ with you. Asshole won’t leave us alone until he talks to you.” Ignoring the offended noise the ginger across from him makes, he continues, “yeah, the guy’s name is Joe Mazzello. Want to talk to him?”

For a moment, the world stands still. 

For a moment, he realizes that, if the answer is no, it would be the end. 

For a moment, he feels his stomach turn over as the nervousness grows until his hand starts to shake.

The moment is broken by an eye-roll from the other man’s face as he lets out an annoyed huff, and passes the phone to Joe. He takes it, grasping it as if it was his only lifeline to the future he so desperately wants to have. “Rami?”

“Hey, Joe.” The deep voice, those two words filtered through the tinny speakers in the phone, makes his knees grow weak in relief.  _ He sounds tired,  _ Joe thinks,  _ fuck, he sounds tired _ , but just hearing him, knowing that he’s alive and okay makes a grin break out on his face.

“How are you? How’s Argentina?” Joe asks, fast as a whip and hoping that his excitement shows in his voice.

“I’m fine. Argentina’s beautiful.”

“That sounds like it’s great for you, man. How long do you think you’ll stay?”

“As long as it takes.”

Joe doesn’t want to think about the implications of the other man’s choice of words. He pauses, thinking of what to say next, of how he could possibly breach the subject. All of the words he’d thought of, the snippets of speeches that’ve floated in his head ever since he woke up alone have disappeared. “Listen, about the last night you were on set; when I locked my door, I-”

“It’s okay, Joe. I understand.”

“You do?”

He hears the other man take a deep breath over the phone line, silent for a moment as he collects the nerve to talk. “I get it, Joe. It’s for the best. I should’ve known it had to end sometime, you know?”

“Wait,” Joe says, voice tight as his knuckles whiten around the phone, “what?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry I dragged you into everything,” he says,  voice quiet. “I shouldn’t’ve made you deal with my shit.” Laughing softly, he continues, “it’s just, you were there for me, you know? I latched on, and it wasn’t fair to you. Not seeing each other, it’s for the best, right?”

“Right,” he replies, and his chest has never felt as cold as it does at this very moment.

“Thank you for not mocking me for it, Joe.”

“I couldn’t-,” he says, reeling at the thought of playing his friend’s fears off as a joke. “I wouldn’t-, not when I-”  _ love you _ , his mind supplies, but he’s too much of a coward to allow his voice to continue.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to justify anything.”

Silence stretches for a minute before Joe is able to break it. “Rami?”

“Yeah?”

“If,” he says, words coming out in a rush, “if I-, I mean, if I felt different about the situation, what would happen?” He sees Rami’s brother in his field of vision, growing anstey with every passing minute. “What if there was something more?”

“I guess we’re lucky that that isn’t the case,” he says.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s, uh, it’s pretty late there, right?” Joe asks, and as if on cue, Rami yawns, trying to muffle the sound.

“It is. I haven’t been sleeping well for months; I’m tired as hell.”

_ I haven’t been sleeping either _ . “I should probably hang up.”  _ I can’t sleep without you anymore. _

“If that’s what you want.”

_ It isn’t. God, it isn’t what I fucking- _ ”I’ll see you at the premiere, I guess?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Alright,” he says, unsure of himself. Nothing has gone to plan, and he has no idea as to how he should feel.

“Goodnight, Joe,” the low voice says, and he isn’t willing to get his hopes up by thinking he hears remorse in the other man’s voice.

“Goodnight, Rami,” he responds, swallowing thickly, and he hears the other phone disconnect, a quiet  _ click!  _ that rings in his head even after he removes the phone from his ear. 

All he can do is look at it.

“Look, man,” the other man says, glancing at Joe, who startles. He’d forgotten that he wasn’t alone. “I’m sorry for being so harsh earlier, it’s just that this entire experience with him has been, well, stressful is too easy of a word, but nothing else comes to mind. I needed to make sure you weren’t going to make it worse.”

Joe nods, mind numb. He hands over the phone, and turns to go towards his car. “I think I’ll be leaving,” he says. An arm wraps around his bicep once more, yet there isn’t any sense of anger like earlier.

“Hey, before you go, I want to give you his number,” the man says. “I’ll give you my own, too. I  don’t want to be the unneeded middleman in your conversations.” Joe holds out his phone, and the other man takes a minute to put both numbers in. “If you think something’s going wrong with him, call me.”

“Rami and Sami?” he says, feeling his grin begin to creep onto his face once more as he reads the new contact names in his phone.

“Yeah,” the other man, Sami, says. “Imagine being identical to your brother and being unfortunate enough to have almost the same name. Our sister’s the lucky one, she got something unique.”

Huffing out a laugh, he says, “hey, at least your name isn’t as common as Joe.”

“You’ve got me there.”’ Sami waves his hand, going back inside of his home, and Joe is left alone in the waning sunlight.

-

The drive home is silent, as the radio’d turned off when he’d left his car, and he doesn’t have the heart to turn it on again. His phone burns a hole into his pocket, heavy with the possibilities he has within reach, yet he knows that he’s too much of a coward to take them.

He arrives home, alone, and goes straight to bed. The clothes he’d worn, a red button-up with the nicest black jeans he owns, are peeled off of himself, and the gel he’d combed into his hair is brushed out. Looking into the mirror of his bathroom, all he sees is an empty stare set within a blank face. The pressure builds behind his eyes until he tears his gaze away, turning the bright lights off and going back into his bedroom.

He allows himself to slip between the covers at a much earlier hour than usual, hoping,  _ praying _ , that he’d be able to sleep during the coming night, and as the events of the day unfold within his mind, of everything that happened and everything that didn’t, he cries.

He cries for the would-haves and the should-haves, the could-haves and everything in between. 

He cries for the opportunities he never took, for the distance and the time between the two men. 

He cries for the knowledge that their relationship is now over and done with, that he won’t see the other man for months unless he can find some bullshit excuse to buy a plane ticket to South America.

Most of all, he cries for the loneliness that grips his heart as if it were the only thing holding itself from going over the edge, for the feeling of being alone that he doubts he’ll be able to shake.  _ Fucking hell,  _ he thinks to himself in the dark of night,  _ will this ever end? _

-

Six thousand miles away, another man lies awake in Buenos Aires, asking himself why he lets his fear of hurt allow himself to push those he cares for away before they can hurt him, even if he knows they wouldn’t. He knows, logistically, that the odds that he wasn’t the only one who fell in what he thinks is love are high, that there isn’t any other interpretation of his and Joe’s relationship on set, but still, he remains afraid.

Afraid of rejection, of locked doors and cold words, of course, but also afraid of what it would mean if his feelings were reciprocated. On the wild chance that the man he’s infatuated with feels the same connection he does, feels the same longing and desperation that remains in each breath he takes, what would that mean for the two of them? Would they try to make it work in secret, away from the prying eyes of agents and paparazzi that held no guilt over their actions? Would they acknowledge their feelings but refuse to act on them?

Or would they say “to hell with it all” and damn their careers in an effort to be happy in a world that wasn’t ready for them yet?

_ No _ , he thinks,  _ he would’ve said something if he felt the same. _

-

Hours later, Joe still lies in bed, staring at his ceiling until dawn, when the sun begins to shine again and his eyes burn from yet another sleepless night. His alarm clock blares out, a reminder to get up, to face the world once more, and he can’t muster up the energy to stand upright. 

He turns the alarm off, and shuts his eyes. 

-

Over the next few months, he writes, and subsequently deletes, a number of texts to the number on his phone he’s afraid to touch.

_ How’ve you been,  _ one message reads, typed a month after the phone call. 

_ What’s it like in South America,  _ another asks, written out in the middle of an October afternoon as Joe walks around town with no particular destination in mind.

_ When do you think you’ll be ready to come home,  _ he wants to ask when Spring comes around once more with no sign of the other man.

_ Would it be weird to come over and say hi _ , he wonders when he finally sees another car in the driveway of the house that haunts him whenever he passes it by.

_ I miss you,  _ in the dead of night, knowing that, if he could just build up the courage to send it, he could fix that.

_ I think I love you. _

-

The two years rush by, leaving him breathless and nervous on the day of the premiere. He’d flown out to Honolulu, Hawaii, the day before, but the reality of the situation seemed to finally sit in as he walked aboard the _USS Missouri_ while surrounded by veterans of the very war he’d tried his hardest to serve justice to. After shaking hands with the elder men, he’d gone in search of his colleagues, with one specific man in mind.

Seda and Dale had found him first, though, and with the trio of leads in one easy-to-find group, the reporters and photographers hounded them for the rest of the night. Every head of brown curls that passed him caught his eye, and everytime he made a move to leave, the older men would keep him there with a question or a hand on his shoulder. He smiled through it all, determined to not let the press get anything bad out of the night, but all he wanted to do was slip away.

The night ended sooner than he’d wanted, and he’d never gotten the chance to find the man he’d longed to see ever since he left Joe’s sight.

-

When the Emmy nominations come out, his phone vibrates with every second that passes by as if it were a clock itself. Messages from his family that make him smile, emojis and all-caps from his fellow castmates, and a serious, yet obviously elated, email from Spielberg and Hanks take up most of his morning. Only one notification stops him in his tracks, stilling his hand atop the screen.

_ I can’t wait to see you this time around,  _ the message reads, and the sender is the one man he hasn’t talked to in over a year.

Eyes wide, he types out a response.  _ Neither can I, I’m still mad I missed you during the premiere. _

_ Same here,  _ comes a response.  _ You were busy, though; I didn’t want to disturb you. _

_ You’d never disturb me,  _ he types, and deletes almost immediately.  _ You wouldn’t’ve,  _ he sends.

_ That’s nice to know.  _

-

The night of the Emmy’s comes quicker than he’d thought it would. His mom fusses over his tie as if he’s a teenager at prom, which he hopes to never be again, and he’s a few minutes late to the red carpet. He runs to catch up to where he sees Holmes’ tell-tale tuft of blond hair atop aviator sunglasses, glinting in the Californian sun.

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath.

“Hey!” Seda responds, appearing next to Holmes. “How’ve you been, man?”

“I’ve been good,” he says, smiling. Holmes turns to him, mouth opening to say something before he sees someone behind Joe’s shoulder.

“And here we were, thinking that no one else would be late,” Holmes says, slyly smirking, and Joe turns around, coming face-to-face with the newcomer.

“It’s a habit I’m trying to break,” Rami says, lip quirked.

“You’re not doing a good job of it,” Seda replies, rolling his eyes in faux exasperation.

Playfully offended, Rami places a hand on his chest, mouth forming an ‘O’ as he says, “in that case, John, I think I might as well head home.”

“Don’t,” Joe says, quick. He swallows when he sees the other men’s eyes on him, and lets out a nervous laugh. “I mean, we’re all late sometimes, you know?”

“I was kidding, Joe,” Rami says with a smile. “I’m not going to leave.”

_ You did, though _ , he thinks, and forces a smile that he’s sure looks more like a grimace. As if on cue, the cameras call their names, and they all turn, ready to be the picture of professionalism, even as a bright flush creeps its’ way upon Joe’s neck. He moves to stand next to Rami, but Seda and Holmes stand in his way, claiming the middle position. Seda keeps a small distance from him, giving him an inch of personal space as he stands to his back. Holmes, however, has a different train of thought.

Joe watches as Holmes’ right arm wraps around Rami’s shoulder, and he hears the laugh it takes from the smaller man. He grits his teeth and continues to smile, though, trying his best to not let the being inside of him, the one that feeds off of claiming what he wants, show up, but everything within him is yelling, shrieking at him to get the blond’s arm off of Rami.

The pictures are over as soon as they’d began, and with their conclusion, Joe takes satisfaction in watching Holme’s arm go back to his own side. Seda and the blond make their way inside, chatting with each other, leaving himself and Rami alone, surrounded by other celebrities and cameras. 

“You look good,” Joe blurts out, and curses himself for the remark. It is true, though; the smaller man looks much healthier than he ever did on set. His skin is tanned, and the weight he’d lost while being Shelton seems to have come back. A sense of peace seems to emulate from the way he holds himself, from the loose grin he has to the easy way he his shoulders rest. He looks healthy, actually healthy, for the first time since Joe’s seen him.

“Thank you,” he says, ducking his head. “I feel good.”

“That’s,” Joe tries to come up with a word, but falls short, “good.”

He hears a laugh, a small giggle, come from the Egyptian, and Joe allows himself to laugh as well. “It’s honestly really nice to see you again, Joe.”

“Well, I couldn’t resist seeing my pharoah again, could I?” Joe asks, and for a moment he thinks he sees the other man’s face change, but it’s over as soon as it started.

“I,” he says, biting his lower lip, “I guess not.” 

“C’mere,” Joe says, and holds out his arms for a hug. A pair of arms wrap around his neck, and Joe reciprocates, drawing his arms to a close around the other man’s waist. Abruptly, he realizes that, pressed against the other man in  front of multiple cameras, wasn’t the best idea.

Rami is solid in his arms; body warm from the sun as he presses himself against Joe. He knows it’s bad, that he shouldn’t use this as an excuse, but he holds the other man tighter in his arms, holds him close as the cameras focus on another cast and crew. The arms around his neck tighten in response, and for a moment, Joe blanks in surprise. His arms loosen, and, against the silk of the other man’s suit, his hands glide down the small of Rami’s back, landing atop his ass. Each hand splayed on either side, Joe stands content, eyes closed and humming for a moment before realizing exactly what’s going on.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, springing apart from the other man. “Shit, Rami, I’m sorry-,”

“It’s,” Rami says, voice hoarse. “It’s okay.” Pupils blown to high heaven, he looks at Joe.

“Still,” he says, but he cuts himself off when he realizes that there’s an issue. 

Joseph Mazzello, one of the stars of an Emmy-nominated miniseries, is standing on the red carpet, surrounded by cameras, and hard as diamond.

“I think-,” he says, trying not to freak out, “I think I’m going to head to the restroom before I sit down.”

Rami nods, and disappears into the crowd, finding his way to their seats.

-

_ Fuck,  _ he thinks, running for the closest restroom.  _ Fuck my life. I’m at the biggest event of my career; why’d this have to happen now? _

His mind betrays him as it plays devil’s advocate.  _ Just because I haven’t seen him in over a year doesn’t mean I have to pop one when I see him.  _ He thinks of Rami, his friend, his co-worker, whom he had no romantic or sexual attraction to, not anymore.  _ It’s faded away, it’s over. Nothing was ever there to begin with. _

And then, he thinks of the Rami he knows. The man with a beautiful smile, who always manages to make him laugh,  _ who has the perfect sized-back to slide my hands down, who has the nicest mouth I’ve ever seen on another man, who’s ass is soft and almost certainly tight- _

“Fuck,” he groans, and quickens his pace when he sees the restroom sign up ahead.

Heaven has its’ mercies, and the bathroom is empty when Joe goes inside. He takes the first stall, slamming and locking the door shut behind him. Pressing his back against the door, his head thuds backwards as he tries to think of anyway to will his erection down, but all he can think of is the other man.

_ God, if he was here,  _ he thinks to himself, and he feels the strain against his suit pants increase to the point of pain.  _ If he was here, I’d want him on his knees. I’d have him look up at me, all innocence and wide eyes as he takes me in his mouth.  _

Throwing caution to the wind, he unzips his pants, lowers his boxers, and takes himself in his hand. He stills at the cool air coming into contact with his cock, but takes no pause in wrapping a hand around it, smearing the precome that’s gathered at his tip. With one glide, he strokes himself, letting his fantasy continue.  _ He’d look so pretty with his mouth stretched around me. _

He sees himself grab onto the brown curls, digging in as Rami hollows his cheeks around the cock in his mouth. In the present, he crooks his hand as his pace increases, jerking himself off with an almost fevrant pace.  _ I’d stop him before I came,  _ he thinks,  _ I’d pull him off, I’d bend him against the sink and I’d fuck him. _

A moan escapes from him as he imagines Rami, sweaty and whining for more, for anything and everything that Joe can give him. He imagines the smaller man’s ass in the air as he grips the sink, moaning as he feels a thick, heavy cock enter him. His hands would grab Rami’s waist, burying himself to the hilt before pulling out and slamming back in again, over and over until words escape both of them. 

Thrusting into his fist,  he covers his mouth with his free hand, trying to stop any sound from coming out as he feels himself inch closer to release. “Jesus fucking-,” he says, voice stuttering as he feels himself come apart, “fucking hell, Rami, oh my God.”

He gathers up toilet paper and cleans himself off, wiping any trace of come he finds off of his hand, and flushes it down. Tucking himself back into his pants, he goes to the sink, and spends the better part of five minutes trying to erase any trace of what he just did from his hands.

-

No one, save for Holmes, notices when he shuffles to their seats mere minutes before the ceremony begins, and the smirk he receives from the blond when he sits down next to Rami is enough to make him regret the night already.

-

They win awards, of course; how could they not when Spielberg and Hanks worked their magic on the series?

The cast party afterwards is a humble event, unlike most of the ones he’d attended for other productions. All of the directors and production crew are praised alongside Seda, Dale, and himself. He grins a lot that night, shakes a lot of hands and poses for many photos, but before he knows it, the clocks chime three a.m., and everyone makes their respective journeys home. 

Rami’s gone before he knows it, but it’s something to be thankful for, at least this time around. Joe doesn’t know how he’d look the other man in the eye.

-

The next few years pass by in rapid succession. Working on all of the movies and shows, with everything leading up to his directing of  _ Undrafted,  _ he barely has time for himself, much less entertaining the crush he’d had back in ‘07. He’s over it, honestly.

Even when he sees Rami at Dodger Stadium in June, he’s too worried about the upcoming release of his movie to say anything but a simple hello. 

-

Late that night, when the moon comes out as he lies in bed, something he's buried within himself regrets not saying anything else.

-

_ Undrafted  _ comes out, much to the critic’s displeasure. He knew he wasn’t going to make anything Oscar-worthy, and it does make him happy to see that the audience, for the most part, seems to enjoy it, but seeing the reviews made by the people who matter, the words that tell him just exactly what he fucked up, still hurts.

He decides to google Rami, to see what he’s been up to now that he has the time to do so. Everything online is pointing to a show he’s in, something called  _ Mr. Robot. _

Joe opens up Amazon on his laptop, and hits play.

-

“That’s his fucking dad?”

-

It’s stupid to cry over shows, Joe knows this, but seeing someone he cares about getting relentlessly fucked over for hours on end leaves him sniffling as the season ends. For a moment, he considers texting the man himself, but when he sees the time he realizes that it might not be the best idea.

-

The year runs to a close, and, just as the new year begins, he receives a call about a possible role from his agent. 

“They want you playing Queen’s bassist in a biopic,” she says over the phone, “John Deacon. Interested?”

He accepts immediately, and, once given the date of his audition, begins to research for a role once again. He’s eerily reminded of playing Sledge what seemed like a lifetime ago.

-

Buying a bass a few days later seemed like a rash decision, but he’s intent on getting the job, no matter the cost.

-

The audition room is full to the brim with young hopefuls looking for their breakout roles, and Joe knows he has nothing to be afraid of. As soon as he’s called back, he shakes hands with the men and women in charge, and recites the lines he’d been given.

Their eyes betray them, and Joe knows he nailed it.

-

He comes back in a few times over the course of the next three months, paired up with various other actors until they’re certain he’s perfect for the role. They even go as far to have him meet Brian May and Roger Taylor, who’re both pleasant to him, thanking him for agreeing to portray their friend. 

The deal is made in secret, the final contract for the role signed without any major press release under the excuse that they want to have the main four cast before any announcements are made. They still haven’t found the right actors for May and Taylor, which makes sense, as they’d be the hardest to find when they have to live up to their alive counterparts.

Last he’d heard, the casting for Mercury himself was in limbo; if they cast the wrong man, the entire film would go down the drain, and that was to be avoided at all costs. He doesn’t have the time to look it up, though, as the next few months are spent memorizing lines and making sure his schedule is cleared.

-

Finally, the role goes public in August, and Joe posts a photo of his chair onto Instagram the second he sees it. 

Wandering around the set, he familiarizes himself with the surroundings he’ll be in for the upcoming year or so. He meets some of the crew, hugging one of the women he recognizes from a past project, and goes into his trailer. It’s a bit more spacious than what he’s used to, with this film being on a much larger budget than any of his past projects, and he unloads his bags.

A time-worn red duvet is spread across white sheets on the queen,  _ ha, _ mattress, and he plugs his laptop in atop the desk he’s been given. After putting his toiletries away and stocking the mini-fridge, he sits down on his bed, spreading his hands out onto the soft fabric. He’s interrupted from his reverie by a knock on his trailer door. “Mazzello, the rest of the cast is here; meet everyone in the dining area in fifteen minutes.”

“Alright,” he says, and stands up. He isn’t nervous, per se, but he has a healthy amount of caution towards the people he’ll be working with on what is one of the biggest pieces of media he’s ever been apart of. Walking out of the trailer, he makes his way to the dining area with a minute to spare.

He recognizes some of them, with Taylor standing towards the front of a small group that’s sat at a collection of tables. Sitting down, he notices McCusker talking with a blond woman, and how Lee’s prodding Hardy awake by poking him. Taylor’s head turns when the door opens, but all it reveals is May with a fond smile on his face. “He’s running a bit late,” May says, walking up to stand beside Taylor. “I knew he’d be great for the role.”

Taylor huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes at the joke. Chatter takes up the room for a few more minutes, only cutting off when the door opens once more.

When Joe looks at the man in the doorway, his heart stops.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, breathless as he speedwalks up to the tables, sitting himself in the empty seat beside Joe. “I didn’t realize I’d even fallen asleep.” He smiles, a small blush making it’s way across his cheeks.

In that moment, Joe Mazzello isn’t a thirty-four year old man with enough acting credits under his belt to make a film student fear him. 

In that moment, Joe Mazzello is transported back to being twenty-something and coated in mud in Australia, falling in love with a man who makes him laugh and turns every night into a memory he’d held close to his chest for the past decade. He’s huddled with the man who gives him hope on a project where everything seemed to be going wrong. 

He’s foolish, falling for brown curls and green eyes; he’d known that it would never work, not in the way he’d prayed it would, but he’d given the universe the middle finger because he was young and in love, goddamnit, and he wasn’t going to let anything stand in his way.

The universe, it seemed, was determined to enact revenge, because just as Joe thought he’d gotten over what was a crush but morphed into something more, something he still thought of years later at night when his defences were down, when all of the thoughts of  _ the would-haves and the should-haves, the could-haves and everything in between _ came rushing in until his empty heart ached, right when he thought he’d grown out of it, that he could be happy on his own, he meets the man from his dreams and falls for him all over again.

Meeting Rami’s eyes, all he can say is one word, quiet as a mouse.

“Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 12:13a.m and I'm tired as hell, but it's done! Spring break starts up in two weeks, so I'm hoping there won't be as long of a break in between chapters for chapter three lol.
> 
> I'll probably post my running commentary as a seperate piece, but added to this like a series so y'all can read it when I'm done.
> 
> I Crave Feedback. Comments are like crack, and I always love hearing what y'all think! my tumblr is @ramimalekbi, feel free to send me your thoughts!
> 
> as per usual, if joe, rami, or my dad ever find this, I'll commit lifen't.


	3. stagnate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the emergence of a relationship, different and yet still the same, in the face of finality; spanning from the beginning of filming bohemian rhapsody to mid-filming bohemian rhapsody.
> 
> a word to the wise - it must get worse before it'll get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "it's only going to be three chapters," I say. that was a big fuckin' lie lmao. 
> 
> this is officially the longest thing I've ever written and it's a goddamn fanfiction. the head of my creative writing program is disappointed in me and I Know It.
> 
> have fun, gremlins!
> 
> song for this chapter - the one that got away [katy perry]

The second that the meeting finishes, after everyone’s been announced and hands have been shaken, Joe runs to his trailer as if someone lit his ass on fire. He ignores the look on Lee’s face and the move that Hardy makes to slow him down as he tears out of the place. Frankly, he doesn’t even look at Rami; not when he doesn’t even know what he wants to see on the other man’s face. He could be happy to see Joe, sad to see him leave, worried about his exit, anything, or, what scares him the most, he could be apathetic. 

The possibility that Rami truly doesn’t care is something that frightens him more than he’d care to admit to himself.

“Watch where you’re going, dude,” a man says, carrying outfits on hangers to the costuming trailer. As he ducks away from Joe, all that’s visible is quite a lot of leather and spandex, causing Joe to rack his mind as to why that is. Images of what Mercury had worn, both on and offstage, flash in his mind, and he’s hit with the realization of who’s costumes those are. 

_ Oh, Christ,  _ he thinks, mumbling a hurried apology as he speeds past the man, practically throwing himself into his trailer. He shuts the door behind him as he falls onto his bed face-first. The urge to scream into his sheets is juvenile at best, but somehow it’s the only thing that he feels will actually help him.

It doesn’t, but it was worth a try.

A knock rings out from his door a minute later, and he knows that he should make himself presentable, but he’s too tired. The door opens, and two sets of feet walk inside, one of which stops at his desk chair, and the other goes to close the door behind them. “Joe?” Accented and cautious, he immediately knows it’s Lee. 

“Yeah?” he questions, face still pressed to the mattress. 

“Can’t hear you,” another voice says. Evidently, Hardy followed Lee. “Gotta get up and face the world.”

Rolling himself over, he lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling of the trailer while two faces peer down at him. “Are you,” Lee says, pausing as he tries to find the right word.

Hardy cuts him off. “Are you losing it before we even start filming?”

“No,” he says.

“Well, what happened back there?” Hardy says, insistent. “Did someone say something?”

“No.”

“Why did you run off?” Lee asks, trying to be the calmer side of the interrogation.

A long stretch of silence plays out before the utter absurdity of the situation seems to finally hit him, and he starts to laugh, quiet and slightly bitter. “I thought I was over it, you know?”

“Over what, exactly?” Hardy says, voice slow as his eyebrows knit together.

“Not ‘it,’ actually,” he replies, carding a hand through his hair. “More like ‘him.’’

“Who?” Both men speak at the same time.

“I thought I was finally over him! I thought it was all over;  that it was just a stupid goddamn crush I had when we were together and that it was finally gone, but no! Life just can’t stop throwing him into my path when it knows I don’t have the power to do anything about it. I’m always too late, too quiet, or too cowardly to do what it wants me to.”

Lee looks him over, pieces fitting together in his mind as he tries to make sense of Joe’s rambling. “It’s Malek, isn’t it?”

Hardy looks at him, and then back at Joe as he seems to come to the same conclusion. “You want to fuck Malek?”

His eyes roll as he fights the urge to get angry. “No, Ben, I don’t just want to  _ fuck him _ , I-,” he cuts himself off before he says anything else. How could he even vocalize how he feels? There aren’t enough words in the English language to encompass what his mind turns into whenever he sees the other man.

There’s no song that can pinpoint the bittersweet feeling he gets when he remembers what it was like to wake up with the other man in his arms, warm from the sheets that covered them, and what it was like to know with certainty that he’d return during the coming night. 

No poem in existence can describe how the light would hit him on set, how skin would turn to gold as if Midas had laid a hand upon his shoulder, nor how the color of his eyes seemed to be the shade that artists from the days of old could never quite recreate on a simple canvas.

There was nothing, and could never be anything, that would accurately describe just how much the other man affected him.

Hardy must see something in his face, and he laughs. “Man,” he says, smirking down at Joe. “You must be in deep.”

Lee shoots a very pointed glare at the blond. “How long have you known each other?”

“Ever since  _ the Pacific _ .”

“That’s-,”

“Ten years,” Hardy says, eyes wide. “Fucking hell, you’ve been sitting on this for a decade?”

“Yep,” Joe says, popping the ‘p’ as he sees his co-stars take in the information.

“Have you been with anyone else during this ordeal?” Lee asks, curious.

“I mean, yeah,” Joe responds, shrugging. “A few men and women here and there, but it never turned into anything. There was always something missing.”

“And you think Malek has what they’re missing?”

“I don’t think, I know.”

“How can you be sure?” Hardy asks.

“When we filmed  _ the Pacific _ ,” he says, drumming his fingers on his thigh, “it was, well, weird. There were a lot of external issues with the writers’ strike and everything else going on, and it ended up leading us together. We grew close,” he pausings, throat dry, “closer than I thought I’d ever be with someone else.”

“What happened?” Lee asks.

“He left,” Joe says, grimace on his face as he sits up. Wringing his hands, he looks down. “He left before I got the chance to say anything.”

“Why don’t you just tell him now?” Hardy questions, voice infected with the kind of naivety that younger people always have, the kind that tells them that everything will work out like a fairytale; that every princess will meet her prince, that the dragon is always slain, that they live and love long after they grow old and shed who they used to be. Something about the young man gets on his nerves, and if he had to wager a guess, it’d be the fact that he still has his entire life ahead of him, and the confidence to get himself what he wants; something Joe never had at his age. Hardy’s a constant reminder telling Joe of everything he should’ve been.

“It’s not that easy,” he says, harsher than he means to. It isn’t Hardy’s fault, and he shouldn’t hold it against him, but there’s something inside of him that wants nothing more than to grip the man by the shoulders and yell for him to take his life seriously.

“Why not?” Lee asks, head cocked to the side. He’s been quiet for the most part, only asking simple questions. “What’s stopping you from going up and saying that you want to be more than friends?”

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” He’s agitated; standing up, he sees Lee and Hardy take a step back. “What if he got over me? What if he never felt the same to begin with?”

Lee looks him straight in the eye, face carefully neutral as he considers the possibility. “What if he did?”

His mouth clicks shut, and the fight drains out of him as his arms fall to his sides. “I just,” he says, the weight of a decade of worry on his shoulders, “I don’t know if I’m willing to take that risk.” He takes a deep breath, and the shudder he feels go through his chest scares the hell out of him. “I don’t want to lose him.”

Silence wraps around the men for a mere moment before Hardy opens his mouth. “I think you should give it a few months, test the waters out, you know?”

“Ben-,” Lee says, hand raised to stop him, but Hardy continues.

“Just spend a bit of time with him; get used to being around him again, and see where it takes you. Don’t rush, I mean, what’s a few more months compared to a decade?”

“Act normal around him, and let him take the reigns,” Lee adds.

“Try not to come on too strong; that’d be worrying.”

“Let him come to you.”

“And if he doesn’t,” Lee says, and the serious set he has to his face, the hard eyes that look into his own, unnerves Joe; “you let him go.”

“Alright,” he says, uncertainty slowly fading into the back of his mind as he thinks,  _ what’s the worst that could happen? _

-

_ This,  _ he thinks, seeing Rami strut across the stage, close enough to touch and yet he knows that he can’t,  _ is the worst that could happen. _

The crew had produced a stage for the shooting of the Live-Aid sequence at what seemed to be an inhuman speed. It was daunting at first; the first scene to be shot would be the culmination of the film, perfect and intense, but with each strut of Rami’s and each plucked string of his bass, it grew easier and easier. He knew exactly why the producers had chosen for this scene to be shot first; if Joe and the others ended up being horrifically bad, it wouldn’t be hard to cut them from the project and replace them. 

Despite the healthy fear they all felt, himself and the rest of the faux-band seemed to do an excellent job, at least in Joe’s opinion. He’d seen actors crash and burn during their first shoots, and it wasn’t the case this time around, even after knowing the pressure placed upon them.

Lee was a bit nervous, but hid it well. The guitar in his hands gave him something to fiddle with, allowing him to let his energy out. Hardy, on the other hand, reminded him of how he felt shooting the battle scenes during  _ the Pacific _ , if only for the fact that the young man looked like he was five seconds from getting up and leaving. The naivety of the young actor seemed to wear off when the realization of the impact this movie would have finally hit him. 

_ All three of us are on some level of stress,  _ Joe thinks, looking around the stage. His gaze landed on Mercury himself.  _ Is Rami? _

The man’s grin was genuine; laughing as he breathed in between the lyrics he’d memorized and kept close to his heart. Every movement was calculated, yet there was a sort of freedom with which he moved in; something that made it clear that this actor was in the very definition of his element.

_ No,  _ he thinks, feeling himself begin to smile,  _ this is where he’s meant to be. _

-

There’s something different about the man that stands before him, something that hadn’t been there when they’d been nothing but two young men working on a television show while the world ran them by. It isn’t just a simple maturation of the mind, no, it was something deeper. It was evident with every laugh and every smile; every spoken word and every posture screamed of an aspect of Rami that Joe didn’t recognize.

Whatever it is, Joe likes it.

-

All four of the men stay around one another, even when filming stops for the night. May and Taylor give them plenty of off time, even if the director doesn’t like it. One night, late into September, they all follow Lee into his trailer after the final shoot of the day.

“How’d you manage to snag a T.V. in your trailer?” Hardy asks after they’ve all sat down. Lee’s sat in what looks to be an extremely comfortable armchair, while Hardy got stuck with the swivel chair at his desk. He’d almost sat down in the maroon loveseat, but after a brief look with Lee, decided against it. Confused, Joe sat down on the sofa, only for Rami to fall in beside him. The snicker coming from Hardy’s direction was enough of a clue to let him know why, exactly, he’d chosen a different seat.

“I came here a week earlier than you all,” Lee says, flipping through the channels before giving up and switching over to Netflix. “Got everything set up the way I wanted before management could tell me not to.”

“Smart,” Rami says from nearby. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the jacket the other man wears, a sleek Adidas print that fits him well. Suddenly, Joe feels underdressed in his simple t-shirt, but a quick check tells him that the other two men are dressed casually as well.

“Wait,” he says, pulling out his phone, “can we take a photo for my Instagram?”

“Joe, dude, you’re literally a teenage girl,” Hardy says, but obliged. They set the photo on a timer, propped against the television, and got into position. 

An idea popped into his mind, causing Joe to get up. He stood behind the couch, and propped his arm against Rami’s shoulder as he bent over. His fist went to his face, and he scrunched his eyes as he tried his best to look furious at the camera. Rami looked up after feeling the arm on him, and copied his facial expression. The camera went off, and Lee stood up to grab it. Joe relaxed, letting his arm fall against the chest below him.

Rami turned his head. “Someone’s been hitting the gym,” he says, huffing out a laugh as he placed his hand atop Joe’s bicep.

Joe felt his face flush at the hand curled around his arm. “Nice of you to notice,” he says, smiling. “Neither of the Brits did.”

Lee and Hardy, who’d been bemusedly watching the exchange take place, snapped out of their trance. Hardy averted his eyes, and Lee responded with an incomprehensible mumble.

“What?” Rami asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Lee says. Hardy climbed back into his chair, and Lee fell into his own. “Now, who wants to watch something?”

-

Hardy lasted all of three hours before complaining of tiredness, prompting many a joke about his youth before he left to go to his own trailer. Lee, stretched out on his chair, looked over at the other two men.

At some point during the movie, Joe had stretched out his arm alongside the back of the loveseat, and Malek had leaned into his side. His arm fit itself over the smaller man’s shoulders, and Malek’s head was propped against Joe’s shoulder.  _ And he thinks Malek doesn’t like him back,  _ Lee thought, shaking his head. “What do you guys want to watch next?”

“I don’t know,” Joe says, and Malek expressed a similar sentiment. “Is there anything else on Netflix worth watching?”

“Not really,” Lee says. He switched from Netflix to Amazon, and started to scroll through before something caught his eye. “Hey, weren’t you both on this show?” 

Both of the men perked up, looking at the screen. “Yeah,” Malek’s voice, thick with sleep, says. “We’re both in that.”

“Want to watch it?” Lee asks, trying to gauge the men’s reactions. They both look nervous, but they nod their heads.

“We don’t come in until episode five,” Joe says.

“That’s where we’ll start, then,” Lee says, and clicks the remote.

-

When he sees himself on the screen, a decade younger and without a care in the world, Joe feels as if he’d just filmed the scenes as Sledge yesterday. He can still remember the warmth of the Australian sun on his hair, the laughs of the other men on set, the brunet beside him, making him laugh with a simple sentence; and, with Rami curled into his chest, he remembers their nights together, when he’d find his way to Joe every night, and they’d fall asleep, wrapped around one another. 

Back then, it’d seemed as though it was them against the world, and if that was the case, Joe knew that they would’ve won.

He holds onto Rami just a little bit tighter at the memories, when he remembers just how much the shooting had affected him, and feels the other man scoot closer in response, tucking his head into the crook between Joe’s head and shoulder with a sigh of content. 

Cradling the man he cares so, so much about close to his heart while the soft light of the television casts dancing shadows across their faces leads Joe to feel a kind of quiet happiness that he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

-

A tap on his chest startles him out of the daze he’d been in, half-asleep while the sounds of war surrounded them. At the sound of a laugh, he looks down, and sees Rami watching the screen, mouthing along with his lines. On screen, Joe lays on his side, vaguely annoyed, and in the present, Joe knows exactly why. 

“Hey,” a voice underneath him, amused, says, garnering his attention. “Look at my eyes.” He does a mock of the accent he’d performed in, a lazy Louisianian drawl that makes a smile curl his mouth. 

Joe looks into the other man’s eyes, a startling pale green that seems to shine out of the darkness surrounding them. A few stray curls, longer than the hair he’d had as Snafu, frame his gaze, and it seems to drill deep into his soul.

“I’m-,” he says, voice hoarse, and he drops the accent. His palm lies flat against Joe’s chest, and he pushes himself up to be face-to-face with the other man. “I’m dyin’, Sledge.”

He isn’t sure how to respond. The moment where the pale eyes lock onto his own, the warm weight of a hand lays solid on his chest and he doesn’t know what to do.

_ I know what I want to do,  _ he thinks to himself,  _ but I shouldn’t.  _ He holds Rami’s gaze, but other than that, makes no move to act on his thoughts.

Rami looks at him, still as stone in a minute that stretches to eternity. Something in his face changes; when he blinks, the moment is gone, and he moves to sit back down. Joe’s arm remains outstretched, and he waits with held breath for him to go back to where he’d been. 

He settles against Joe, laying his head on his shoulder as gunfire erupts on the screen, and Joe stares straight ahead, wondering if he just caused something to change.

-

Daylight breaks through the curtains hung in front of trailer windows, and the sunlight in his eyes causes Joe to reluctantly awake. A glance around the area tells him that Lee moved back to his own bed at some point during the night. There’s no sign of Rami anywhere.

“Lee?” Joe says, clearing his throat. “Gwilym? Wake up, dude.” He prods the shoulder of the man in question, shaking him a bit when he refuses to rise.

“I’m up,” Gwilym says, raising a hand to stop him. “I’m up, Joe.”

“What happened last night?” He doesn’t remember anything past the odd encounter he’d had with Rami.

“You fell asleep sometime before the last episode,” he says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and getting up to stretch. “Rami and I watched the finale, which, by the way, you two both crushed.”

“Thanks,” Joe says, opening the door to leave before pausing and turning back to Gwilym. “Did Rami tell you why he left?”

For a split second, something flits across the other man’s face before he answers. “No, why?”

Hurriedly, Joe replies with “No reason,” before saying a quick goodbye and exiting the trailer. A blond man walks by as he pulls his phone out. As expected, there’s no message from Rami, just a notification from Twitter and a text from his dad. He pockets his phone, turning and walking to the dressing rooms to get ready for the day.

-

Dressing as Deacon gives him a weird feeling, unlike anything he’d felt when he played Sledge. Sledge had already passed away by the time they’d filmed his story, leaving his book behind as a firsthand account of everything he’d portray. With Deacon, it was different; he knew that somewhere out in the world, the man was alive, but he was under strict rules to never contact him, not that Joe would want to disturb him in the first place.

Still, knowing that you’re playing the life of a man who hadn’t even finished his own was odd. All he had to work with were the old interviews, the accounts of May and Taylor, and the script they gave him. He’d studied for the role to an extent that surprised even himself; watching everything from documentaries to the old music videos. At the end of the day, he wanted to make something that, if Deacon ever watched it, would be proud to see.

Privately, he thought that Rami had the hardest role on set. There could be a case made that the average person only had passing knowledge of May, Taylor, and Deacon, but everyone on the planet knew the man that was Freddie Mercury. They all knew how he acted; his mannerisms and voice were etched into every soul that ever saw him. He had to work with the knowledge that, if he wrecked his role, the entire movie would turn into a shitshow. Even when Joe had played Sledge, he knew he had Seda and Dale to back him up if he couldn’t knock it out of the park, but Rami was alone. He knows that he’d never want that kind of pressure on himself.

Rami, however, seems to take this all in stride, prancing on the stages he’s set upon, coming alive in every scene with a sort of vigor that blows every expectation out of the water. When the camera focuses on him, he comes alive. 

He’s mystical, larger-than-life, a fantastical being that seems to never tire, never worry, never fear. 

He’s a fire that’s grown too large for the timber it started within, becoming his own being with each word out of his mouth. 

He’s fascinating, but he isn’t the man that Joe cares for.

No, the man he cares for is a bit quieter, a bit more reserved, yet out and proud nonetheless. The man he wishes to be around whenever possible is his own person, an intricate, beautiful man who could never be just another actor on a screen.

The man in question, who is currently wearing skin-tight leather and an open-cut shirt, is making Joe relieved to have a bass in front of him. Heeled black boots clacked against the stage as he struts across it, balancing the mic stick gripped in his hands, one clad in a leather glove, against his hips as his hair whipped back and forth. He was smiling, a grin on his face when he wasn’t singing.

If Joe could do anything in this moment, anything at all, he would drop his bass to the ground and take the other man into his arms, feeling the leather against his skin as he worked Rami out of the outfit. He wouldn’t even have to bother with the shirt, with Rami’s entire chest out it would be easy to push down. The other man would laugh at his wig, taking it off as he unbuttoned Joe’s shirt and-

“Earth to Mazzello? Come in, Mazzello,” the director said, snapping in front of his face. “You stopped playing the bass for a full minute.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, embarrassment creeping up as he looked anywhere else but the other cast members’ eyes. “Won’t happen again, sorry.”

“It better not,” he said, and gestured to the cameramen. “Start it from the top.”

-

Seeing the other man again on such a regular basis is still a happy surprise for Joe. Watching him perform, hushed conversations between scenes, and pleasantries exchanged over meals are something he didn’t realize he missed. Even with the director breathing down their necks, and the lack of free time, they still manage to find each other whenever possible, but nothing other than base level niceties have happened since their night on Gwilym’s couch.

He’s afraid of pushing too hard, that if he tries to progress he’ll freak the other man out, and Joe can deal with the formality of their current relationship if it means that he’ll be able to keep Rami in his life.

There’ve been a few times, a select few nights where sleep eludes him and he stays awake deep into the midnight hours; on some of those nights, he thinks he can hear someone walk to his trailer door, only to leave minutes later.

He tells himself that he’s making it up.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t.

-

Rami isn’t sure what to do; the one thing he thought he knew, that Joe and him had something, isn’t a fact anymore, and he doesn’t even know how the other man feels about him. He’d been so sure that they’d be close again when he first saw him on set, but when Joe ran, he realized that that might not be the case. Everything in him screamed for him to just simply talk with the man, to figure out whatever the hell their relationship was, or what they wanted it to be, but he’s scared; scared of rejection, of the idea that the man he cares so deeply for doesn’t care about him as anything more than a colleague. 

On the night in Lee’s trailer, he thought he might be wrong, that, when Joe took him in his arms, it meant that there was something there, no matter how buried, between them. He looked the other man in the eyes, throwing the ball into his court as he fought the instinct to lean in, and Joe did nothing but stare back at him.

When he saw himself leave on the screen, he took it as his cue to go back to his own trailer, to figure out what he was going to do after everything. A continent away from his family, he felt tired, melancholic, and  _ so fucking alone. _

The phone on his nightstand stuck out in his mind, and he picked it up, opening a message from his brother that made him laugh. He saw the other contacts, past co-workers and friends alike, but one name kept reappearing, as if it was a magnet to his thoughts.

With a deep breath, he clicks the contact  _ “Charlie _ ,” and calls.

-

They talk it out first, direct with what they want. There was a similar arrangement when they filmed  _ Papillon _ that continued throughout the press tour, and when that ended, they went their separate ways with no hurt feelings. No love, or any sort of romance, was involved; it was just two friends in a mutually helpful situation. 

Charlie’s the one who suggests bringing it back, the ability to find comfort in one another when everything else is uncertain, and he agrees almost instantly. He needs something to ground him, to keep him from driving himself up a wall with the worry of the film’s success mixed with the fiasco that his relationship with Joe is, and Charlie is exactly what he needs,

-

He begins to come by Rami’s trailer when he has the time, sometimes for a chat, sometimes for something more. Charlie always seems to know exactly what he needs, and Rami’s thankful for it. The knowledge that he can exchange a look with the man, that Charlie would see the emotion in his face and know what they need to do, is calming, especially when he’s too embarrassed to ask for it himself. 

The physical aspect of their arrangement helps the most, much to Charlie’s delight. When he retires to his trailer for the night and finds the blond already inside, he can feel the tension drain out of him as strong arms hold him close; the pressure is comforting to him, holding him together when he feels himself slipping away. The soreness he feels afterwards is a reminder that he’s here, he’s human, and that with every protest of his thigh muscles, with every hoarse voice that inevitably gets Singer up his ass about irresponsibility, he feels alive.

If sucking cock is going to get him through this filming, so be it.

-

The moustache unnerves Joe. 

It fits Rami’s role, of course, but it seems like an insanely foreign object on his face. The first time he sees him decked out in full Freddie gear, he does a double-take, his mind saying that that man can’t possibly be Rami.

Weeks later, he’s grown used to it, but he still doesn’t like it.

-

They get the upcoming week off for Thanksgiving, and the night before they’re all set to leave, he walks over to Rami’s trailer. He isn’t sure what he’s going to say, what he even plans to do, but it feels wrong to leave without saying goodbye. Knocking on the trailer door gets him nowhere, and he opens it after finding it unlocked. 

All too soon, he wishes he’d left without visiting the other man.

Rami isn’t alone. 

A tanned back is the first thing he sees, arched as the man it’s apart of gasps, short, high-pitched breaths as he bounces. His skin is flushed, curls plastered to his face as his mouth forms an ‘O’ as he impales himself of another man’s cock. He’s straddling a tall, muscular blond that Joe vaguely recognizes, sitting on his lap as he rocks up and down, and the man has each of his hands on the smaller man’s hips. 

“God, baby,” the blond says, “you’re made for this. Tell me what you need, I’ll do it..”

“Charlie,” the tanned man says, “fuck, Charlie, harder. I need-,” he groans, dropping his head onto the blond’s shoulder, hiding his face from view. “I need to feel this tomorrow. I want to-, want to remember what your cock feels like. Please.” He says this with a voice Joe would always recognize, even if he didn’t hear it for the rest of his life. Joe knows he should leave; he should flee before one of them notices him, but it’s like watching a trainwreck. He can’t move, welded to the spot where his feet remain on the steps to the trailer.

“Anything,” the man, Charlie, says, moving one hand to grab at the other man’s ass, other hand sliding up his back, pulling him closer as they move. “Anything for you, love, anything you-,” he cuts himself off, voice losing the husky quality he had as he realizes that he and his partner have a visitor.

Rami feels the man still underneath him. “Why’d you stop?” he asks, petulant as a child when he lifts his head up. “Charlie?” he asks, desperation beginning to show as he loops his arms around the other man’s shoulders. He looks at the man in front of him, and turns his head, following his gaze. When he sees the man standing atop the steps of his trailer, watching everything go down, his eyes grow wide, and he stills. “Joe?” he says, with the edge of hysteria creeping into his voice.

“Who’s he?” Joe asks, looking straight past the smaller man to the blond, who’s grabbing a blanket, covering Rami, and by extension, himself, up.

“What are you doing?” He’s tensed up, and Joe can see him start to work himself into a panic.

“Rami,” he says, and the man in question startles at hearing his name, “who the hell is that?”

“It’s none of your business,” he says, unable to look Joe in the eye as the blond man tries his best to wrap the blanket around him. 

“He’s not supposed to be here,” Joe says, voice loud. It’s true; the director had made it clear that he didn’t want anyone on the set that wasn’t involved with the movie, but the reason behind him saying this is much more selfish than that.  _ He’s not supposed to be here,  _ he thinks,  _ not when you have me. _

“I want him here!” He’s growing agitated, clearly out of his comfort zone, and scared. Joe knows he shouldn’t keep pushing, he should just leave and figure it out later, but he needs to know.  _ Am I not enough for you? _

The blond looks between the two of them, awkward and unsure. “Should I leave?” he asks, looking to the man in his lap for direction.

“Yes!” Joe says, almost shouting.

At the same time, frantic, Rami says the opposite. “No,” he says, shaking his head as he looks down. “Please don’t leave, Charlie.”

“Alright, baby,” Charlie says, voice low. “I won’t leave if you don’t want me to.”

The softness in his voice grates on his nerves. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” he asks, confused and, if he’s being honest, bitter.

“We’re not dating,” Rami says, quickly looking between Charlie and Joe. “He’s not my boyfriend; there’s nothing romantic between us.”

Dumbfounded, Joe looks at him. “What?” His voice sounds strangled, even to his own ears.

Suddenly, Rami gets up, shaking his head as he wraps the blanket around his waist. “I can’t,” he says, quietly, “I can’t fucking deal with this.” He walks towards Joe, and for a moment, he’s afraid Rami’s going to push him out of the door. Instead, Rami shoves by him, walking into the night air. Part of him would laugh at the absurdity of it all, of the man he loves stalking off into the night wearing nothing but a blanket, but he has no idea of what to do now.

The blond watches everything go down, and made no move to stop Rami from leaving, nor does he make any move to follow him. The only action he’s taken is putting on a pair of boxers to cover himself up. They stand in silence, looking at one another, before Joe manages to speak. 

“What just happened?”

The other man looks at him. He’s curious, and says, “He left, but why do you care?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you just leave when you saw us?” Charlie asks. He’s unnervingly calm in a way Joe knows he wouldn’t be able to be, had their roles been reversed. 

“I-,” he says, unsure of what he plans on saying.  _ I wasn’t sure what to do. I-,  _ he thinks,  _ I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurting him. I wanted to see if he was okay. I wanted to figure out why he didn’t come to me instead.  _ “I don’t know.”

“I think you do, Mazzello,” he says, “but I’m not going to make you say it, not if you’re not ready.” He walks to the steps of the trailer, and at his angle, he’s almost terrifying to see. The muscles, along with the added height, give the impression of a guy who could easily kick Joe’s ass, but something in his demeanor tells him that this man couldn’t hurt him, even if he wanted to.

“Why are you being so nice about this?”

Charlie takes a moment to think before responding. “I care about him; I care about him a lot, and I know he cares for me, too. With you, though,” he looks at Joe, almost wistful, “there’s something else. I don’t know what, but from what I’ve seen, you feel the same way.”

“I-, I don’t know what you mean.”  _ There’s no way that he’s right,  _ his mind tells him,  _ there’s no shot in hell that he means what you hope he means. _

“Keep telling yourself that, Joe,” he says, and he claps a hand on Joe’s shoulder before walking out. He pauses after his feet hit the gravel, and turns back. “Just remember,” he says, “you know how you feel about him. He doesn’t, and won’t know until you talk to him, but he won’t wait forever.”

With that, Charlie walks off, leaving Joe alone in a trailer that isn’t his, wondering why he’s been such a complete fucking idiot.

-

He arrives back in New York the next day, meeting his family on a pleasantly cool Sunday. He almost forgot what it was like, with the buildings that stretch to the sky’s limit and the rush of people walking by, but it’s something he’s glad to see again.

There’s a week until he goes back to London, back to the hectic schedule of shooting and the even more unbalanced lives on set, and he intends on relaxing when he can. 

-

He knows that he shouldn’t, but he’s tipsy off of the wine his sister had served during the Thanksgiving meal, and he knows he won’t have the courage in the morning to do what he needs to. The phone in his hands is already on the third ring, and part of him is afraid that the tone will ring out.

The other line picks up. “Joe?” a voice asks. “Why are you calling me at five in the afternoon?”

“It’s eight o’clock here,” he says, slurring his words a bit more than he’d wanted to.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He isn’t angry, but Rami’s voice makes it apparent that he isn’t pleased at the unexpected call. 

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he says. The line is silent for a moment, and Joe’s afraid that the other man hung up. “Rami?”

“I’m here.”

“Alright,” he says, and continues. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. It’s none of my business who you, uh, interact with, and it was unfair of me to be angry. There’s just,” he pauses, trying to find the right way to phrase things, “some confusing shit I’m trying to figure out in my life, and I didn’t know how to react when I saw you two. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Are we-,” Joe says, a flare of hope in his chest, “are we good?”

“We’re good, Joe,” Rami says, voice soft. “Thank you for talking to me about it.”

“I guess I’ll see you on Sunday?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, “I’m getting back late that night.”

“See you then, Rami.”

“Goodnight, Joe.”

-

Californian heat shines through the windows of the house, and Sami watches his brother put down his phone. “Was that Joe?” he asks, putting down the knife he was using to cut a carrot with.

“Yeah,” his brother says, faint smile on his face. “It was.”

“Did he apologize?” Sami’s hesitant; he remembers Rami telling him everything on the ride home from the airport, the confusion at Joe’s behaviour, Charlie coming back, and everything in between. He recognized Mazzello’s behaviour almost immediately, the uncertainty in his actions coupled with the emotional outburst at seeing his brother with someone else could only mean one thing, but it isn’t his place to step in. Plus, Rami would never forgive him if he found out that he chewed Mazzello out over the phone.

“He did.”

“Do you forgive him?”

“I do. If I’d seen him with someone else, I don’t know how I’d’ve reacted.”

“Here’s a wild thought,” Sami says, handing his brother a tray to put in the oven. “Why don’t you, I don’t know, just talk to him?”

“It’s not that simple,” he replies, shooting a look at Sami when he hears their mom come into the kitchen. She stays for a few minutes, making sure that everything’s going okay, and ruffling their hair before she leaves. “I don’t even know if he feels the same way towards me.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sami says, shaking his head. “There’s no way he doesn’t feel the same.”

“How do you know?” Rami huffs, rolling his eyes as he checks one of the pots on the stove. 

“If he’s still the same dumbass that came to our house and wouldn’t leave until he talked to you, I’m sure he feels the same.”

The conversation lulls, and they work in a comfortable silence until their sister comes in. She takes one look around the room, and takes the spoon from Rami’s hand. Looking at him, she smirks. 

“You never work well when you’re worried about a boy,” she says, “and I don’t want dinner to go to shit.” 

Sami receives a thump to the head from Rami for his laugh.

-

The first day back on set is quiet. Most of the cast is either out, or hasn’t even gotten back yet, and Joe finds himself in his trailer, mindlessly scrolling through whatever website has his attention. He already unpacked everything from his suitcase, cleaned his trailer, hell, he even washed his sheets. By the time midnight rolls around, he decides to call it quits and get ready for bed.

He showers, pulling on a t-shirt and shorts as he waits for his hair to dry. The mirror, in the areas where it isn’t fogged up, show a man who’s tired for reasons beyond physicality, but he ignores it. As he moves to turn his light off, he hears a knock at his door.

It’s hesitant, softer than what he remembers it to be, but he knows that there’s only one person it could be. He hopes that the thud of his footsteps aren’t as loud as he thinks they are when he almost leaps to the door, and opens it.

Standing behind it, Rami looks up at him. The night sky stretches behind him, stars burning bright in the distance, with the light of the moon dancing upon them both. “Hey,” he says. His voice is hoarse, as if he hadn’t talked in hours, and his hair is a wreck, curls standing up in the cool November air.

“Hey,” Joe responds, feeling the edge of his lip quirk into a soft smile. “What’re you doing up this late?”

“I just got in, actually,” he says, carding his hand through his hair. “I gave my bag to one of the security guards when I went to check in, but by the time I got back, they’d locked their office for the night. My trailer’s locked as well.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry dude.” Joe looks at him, and Rami looks as though he’s about to collapse from exhaustion. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

“That,” he says, thinking the idea over. “That’d be perfect, actually.”

“Come on in,” Joe says, holding out his hand. Rami takes it, and for a moment he’s struck still by the feeling of Rami’s hand in his. He leads the other man into his trailer, locking the door behind them, and goes over to his dresser. “Here,” he says, holding out a pair of pink shorts with a yellow t-shirt. “I know it isn’t up to your standards, but you can’t possibly sleep in what you’re wearing now.”

“Thank you,” he says, and moves into the bathroom to change. When he comes out, he looks different from how he’s appeared over the past few months. There’s something new, something softer in him that Joe hasn’t seen in years. He moves over to the desk chair, but Joe stops him before he sits down.

“You know you can sleep in my bed, right?” he says, bemused.

“Are you sure? If you’re uncomfortable, I don’t want to intrude on anything-”

“Rami,” he says, looking right in the smaller man’s eyes. “You’re always welcome here. You don’t have to worry about intruding or anything of the sort.”

The smile he gets from Rami in response is enough to make the exhaustion from every sleepless night he’s had over the past decade dissipate. “Okay,” he says, and Joe turns out the light. He slides between the covers, and feels the other man do the same, keeping his distance from Joe. A few minutes pass by in silence before the sheets rustle, and Rami turns to face him. “What did you mean by ‘it isn’t up to your standards’ when you passed me your clothes?”

Joe laughs. “Well, Mr. Photoshoots-for-Days, you tell me.”

He hears the other man laugh, a light sound. “Just because they have me wear that stuff doesn’t mean I wear clothes like that all the time.”

“And yet, you show up to my trailer door at midnight while wearing a Calvin Klein coat that easily costs over $300.”

The moonlight coming through one of his windows allows him to see exactly when Rami rolls his eyes, and he feels Rami bat at his arm. “Shut up,” he laughs.

“You know I’m right.”

The other man sighs. “Alright, maybe you aren’t completely wrong.”

“I knew it.”

-

The sunlight streams in, waking him up a few minutes before his alarm is set to go off, but when he makes a move to turn it off, he realizes that he can’t move.

Laying across his body, Rami’s fast asleep, one arm thrown across Joe’s torso as his head rests on his chest. His curls tickle Joe’s chin from where they move with every breath taken. The natural light seems to make him glow in the early hours of morning. As much as he wants to lay there for the rest of the day, Joe knows that they have to get to the costuming trailer soon. “Rami,” he says, and he shakes the other man slightly with one hand on his shoulder blade. “Rami, we’ve got to get up.”

The other man gives a miniscule shake of his head, arm tightening over Joe’s chest as he settles into the sheets. “Nope,” he says, voice thick with sleep. “Not moving.”

“You good?”

A huff of breath hits his chest, and Joe has to hold in a laugh when he hears the smaller man simply say “warm.”

“Alright,” Joe says. He knows that the director will be by any moment now, surely to chew their asses out for being late, but for this moment, he can stay. For this moment, he’ll let any punishment from management come if it means that Rami’s happy.

For this moment, which he hopes will never end. It’s naive, but part of him allows himself to get lost in the idea. If the moment never ended, if he and Rami were to lay in tandem for the rest of time itself, forever basking in the early morning sun as white sheets became entangled between them. If every morning started like this; if he grew witness to seeing the other man first thing in the morning and last thing at night, Joe knows that there’s nothing that would ever be able to make him happier.

It finally clicks. The glances, the spoken-words and advice he’d received from everyone, all urging him to do one simple thing. They’ve told him that he had nothing to worry about, that everything would be solved if he grew the courage to talk with the other man.

He had nothing to worry about, but he never realized why. He’d assumed that it was because, when Rami would reject him, he’d be nice enough to remain friends.

Now, though, as the other man resides in his bed, having come to him in the middle of the night, he realizes what they’d tried to get through to him. 

With every moment he stays with Joe, he realizes exactly that. 

Rami didn’t leave. Even when he woke up, and knew he was still with Joe, he didn’t leave. 

He stayed.

He stayed because-

His mind fills in the blank.  _ He stayed because he feels the same. _

Quiet, as to not disturb the other man, Joe couldn’t help but let a noise of astonishment out. “Oh,” he says, and sees the beginning of a smile curve on Rami’s face, pressed to his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all I literally got to the end scene and realized that this chapter would break 10k if I made it the last one so I'm splitting it in two. hopefully I'll finish the last [?] chapter soon.
> 
> I think I'm actually going to cry when I write the final words tbh.
> 
> is there anything y'all want to see happen in the last chapter? I've got Ideas™ but nothing concrete yet.
> 
> my tumblr is @ramimalekbi! feel free to shoot me a message/ask if you'd like!
> 
> if grammarly could stop eating my ass about "this is a non-american variant of spelling, change it!" that'd be great. I 100% blame reading too many british authors, both in real works and fanfiction alike, and it's fucked up my writing lmao.
> 
> good morning/afternoon/night, y'all!
> 
> as always, Feedback Fuels Me. comments are beautiful little creatures that give me the energy to keep writing.


End file.
